Drowning in Darkness
by SaltRoundsAndHolyWater
Summary: It seemed like all her life she had been running, desperate to get away from some unknown force. After collapsing on 221B Baker Street things take a turn she never would have expected and the chance of getting revenge is within her grasp. But what happens when the truth comes out and everything around her begins to fall? Sherlock/OC pre-reichenbach Guys, I really suck at summaries.
1. Chapter 1

_It happens like this._

_One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else-closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel-one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust them-even if they come hand in hand with pain and suffering-the reason for their presence will become clear in due time._

_Though here is a word of warning-you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exists in your life. They will be a stranger to you once more. _

_-Lang Leav_

-/-

She needed help.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and blood running down her side. When she slid into an alleyway that night to find a place to sleep she hadn't expected to find one of his men waiting for her in the shadows. Her exhausted body hadn't been able to react as fast normal and, although she had been able to dodge the bullet somewhat, it had found its way through her side. She began to run immediately wanting to put as much distance between her and the shooter as possible. It wasn't likely that he would follow her, no, that had just been a warning, she knew when they were out to kill her and that wasn't it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't take it upon himself to finish her off.

She was already exhausted making her more susceptible to infection, especially considering she had gotten into a scuffle with one of _His _men earlier in the day which lead to her rolling around in a wet ditch, soaking her completely.

She could get a motel room and try to clean herself up but it was too risky, her cash supply was running low and she was already in too much trouble with the police in the UK as it was. She didn't need the police and His men up her ass at the same time.

She stumbled through the empty streets trying to fight back the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed help. She turned a corner and a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of a lone shop with its lights still on. She forced her feet to move a bit faster. All she had to do was get across the street-the thought was cut short as her knees gave out and she was sent tumbling face first onto the sidewalk.

She grit her teeth as pain shot through her entire body, a few stray tears running down the black paint around her eyes and into the fabric of the black balaclava covering her nose and mouth. A taxi started driving towards her and panic set in. She was vulnerable, completely out in the open and if the driver or it's occupants called the police she'd be screwed. She wouldn't be able to stop them and she'd be stripped of everything that was protecting her including the backpack that contained her entire life.

She sat up and managed to retreat into the shadows, the effort causing her vision to blur and her head to lull to the side as unconsciousness began to creep up on her. She glanced back down at her side and slammed her eyes shut at the small pool blood already beginning to form beside her. If someone attacked her now she wouldn't be able to fight back. When the car stopped in front of her, her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest. This was it, game over, she lost. She hung her head and focused intently on the ground hoping the occupants of the taxi wouldn't notice her but of course they had to live at the door she was propped up against.

"Are you alright?" The first man asked.

"Obviously not John, she's been shot." A deeper voice replied.

She sighed shakily and looked up at the two men, the only thing visible to both were her green eyes.

"C-can you help me? I can't g-go to a hospital, p-please help." She pleaded. If she could just get them to take her in and stitch her up she could be long gone by morning.

The shorter man stooped down beside her and scooped her up in his arms without hesitation, trying not to jostle her too much as he carried her up a flight of stairs and into their flat.

Black dots danced in front of her eyes as she continued to beg the man carrying her not to call the police or take her to the hospital.

"You can't...the police...don't...arrest...no...please..." She threw her head back and forth trying to shake away the darkness that was threatening to take her. As the taller man opened the door to their flat she lost her battle, her head falling limply to the side as she slipped into oblivion.

-/-

"So what now? Do we ring the police?" The man carrying the now unconscious girl asked.

"John, if she wanted the police, I don't think she would have nearly bled out on the streets. She doesn't want anyone to know she's here." His flat mate said matter-of-factly as he shed his trademark black coat and navy scarf.

"Well then, I guess I'll see about cleaning her up." The shorter man replied, carefully laying the girl down on the surprisingly clean table that was usually covered in specimens, papers, and other scientific equipment. Sherlock heard water running as he collapsed onto the sofa and over the sounds of water hitting the sink, he could hear the rustle of light fabric and water swishing around.

John carefully wiped blood and paint away and began checking for any more injuries as he peeled away the girl's layers of clothing. Slightly uncomfortable with having an unconscious and very naked woman on his table, he had lain a towel across her chest and hips. There was no telling what would happen if she woke up and realized she was undressed and on a stranger's table.

Finding nothing life-threatening besides the gunshot wound but noting the yellow bruises on her ribs and fading scars that seemed to cover her from toe to shoulders, he tilted her forward to check her back. He stared at the marking for a while before finally leaning around the doorway, making eye contact with a lounging Sherlock.

"You might want to see this."

"I'm not sure I want to see you man-handling some poor girl, but if you insist." John had an arm across her chest, supporting her weight on it to allow the girl's back to be clearly seen. On her left shoulder blade was a raised, pink scar in the shape of an M. Sherlock ran his middle finger over it and guessed the mark to be a few years old.

"What do you make of it?" John asked in a concerned tone.

"It's a branding, to prove ownership of something, like they do with livestock." Sherlock's gaze followed her spine, noticing random scars decorating the skin, most likely from a knife, and patches of unevenly healed skin that could only come from being burned.

"She's clearly not livestock." John looked confused and a little horrified.

"Clearly. But she is someone's property. At least, they seem to think so." Sherlock looked a little excited at the thought.

"No. She's not property, she's a human being." John didn't miss Sherlock's interest, although he was still disgusted at the thought of someone owning another person.

"Your human being is getting cold." Sherlock remarked, walking out with an amused look.

It was morning before John Watson had finished stitching and cleaning the wound of the girl they had found on their doorstep. After deeming his stitch jobs satisfactory and cleaning up his medical supplies he turned to his flat mate who hadn't left his spot on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"Is there anything we could cover her up with?"

"What's wrong with the way she is now?" Sherlock seemed to find entertainment in John's obvious discomfort at the young woman's lack of clothing.

Ignoring Sherlock's teasing, John asked, "Would Mrs. Hudson have any clothing she could lend?"

Sherlock glanced at the girl and shook his head. "Her clothes wouldn't fit. This girl's chest and hips are larger than Mrs. Hudson's. I think one of your shirts might work and a pair of my night pants. Her legs seem to be longer than yours."

After carefully depositing her on the couch, John went to gather up the clothing and pain medication. Sherlock took this opportunity to really look the girl over, trying to gain any clues about who she was.

Scars covered her body, much like the ones on her back, only larger. Without her face covered, Sherlock guessed she was early to mid-twenties. She obviously hadn't slept in days judging by the dark purple bags under her eyes, meaning she knew who ever she was running from was getting close. Looking at her legs, he could see toned muscles under the honey colored skin.

Even though she was well-rounded, Sherlock was surprised to see her skin stretched over her ribs, almost enough to be starving but not too much as to weaken her. So she wasn't fed on a daily basis.

Her natural tan was fading, backing Sherlock's previous observation of her being on the run for a while.

Taking a closer look at her mahogany colored hair, Sherlock could safely say that she hadn't had her hair cut in a few months, judging by the dead end that curled up at the tips. He also noticed how her hair seemed to be uneven in places meaning when she had done it she had done it herself.

The contents found in the woman's backpack told Sherlock her preference was guns, but she still frequently used knives judging by the condition and small flakes of dried blood left behind. The way she had hidden her face told him that she had some sort of military background or training, not very many people knew that covering the area around yours eyes would prevent facial recognition on camera. So she was on the run from someone who was doing whatever they could to find her, most likely the person who had branded and tortured her.

She had a small wad of cash and a few cards, all with different names, in a plastic baggie in a pocket inside of her jacket. Confirming to Sherlock that she was the one who had been robbing the small shops in London.

And that was all Sherlock could conclude about this strange woman for now. Once she came to though, he was sure he would know more.

-/-

When John returned an hour later he dressed the girl in one of his white T-shirt and a pair of Sherlock's grey night pants. After dressing her he studied the girl again, this time taking in her features.

Her oval face had full lips and big round eyes, cheek bones that were high but not as sharp as Sherlock's, and a nose that appeared to have been broken several times. Full breasts and hips created an hourglass and long arms and legs ended with slender fingers and toes. Wavy, mahogany hair ended at her elbows, the fineness of it visible in her eyebrows and eyelashes.

Whoever she was, she was bound to be missed.

-/-

_Pain._

_That's all she could remember. She couldn't even remember what He had said the murky gray liquid in the needles were but it hurt, it hurt so bad. Don't scream, don't scream, don't SCREAM!_

_His men pushed her thrashing arms and legs down on the table, strapping her down and injected her again and again. Her back arched up off the table as she begged between sobs and agonized screams for the pain to stop. _

_She could hear His voice inside her head, talking to her, telling her exactly what He was going to do to and she knew He wasn't bluffing. _

_She heard the words that she had cried out so often in her sleep yet knew she had never spoken aloud. "Please…Stop…I'll do anything…I just couldn't do it any longer…I couldn't take anymore…Please…Please don't do this to me." She felt the sob that ran through her and heard Him laugh as she cried._

_"You should have listened baby, that's all you had to do. I own you, your never getting away from me." He cooed, she could hear the sadistic smile on his face growing wider as he spoke. She could feel hands tugging at her very core, ripping at her flesh as she was allowed to let out the real scream that was waiting in her throat for it's release._

_"Does it hurt yet? Your own little piece of hell on earth?"_

-/-

She had learned over the years that waking up right away wasn't a good thing to do. She kept her eyes closed and carefully listened to her surroundings, it was something that had saved her several times. When she heard nothing except for the steady sound of breathing of the person sitting across from her she carefully shifted her body to make sure she hadn't been tied up. Thankfully she wasn't but she could tell that the clothes on her body weren't hers meaning she had no weapons easily accessible.

"John. She's awake." Sherlock didn't move from his spot on the couch, deciding to let John handle the girl while he observed.

Her bright green eyes shot open immediately and slowly began to focus on her surroundings. There was a table between her and the man across from her, one of her switchblades laying in the center. Without hesitation she lunged for the blade and scrambled behind the couch, putting that much more distance between her and the curly haired man.

Sherlock sat perfectly still as he watched the woman lunge for the blade and stand behind the couch. Her jaw was set in determination, the slightest bit of panic evident in her eyes. John came in with a glass of water and the prescription bottle and the woman's eyes began to take in every detail about him. "I see you're finally awake. If you don't mind, I'd like to check your vitals."

The man who spoke was easy enough to read, he was open with emotions and reactions and the way he stood unguarded. His haircut, and the way he held himself said military. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he looked her over. He must be the doctor, she concluded.

The taller man was a different story however. She took in his dark suit that covered his long, pale limbs. gun-metal blue eyes held no emotion in them as he watched her; his legs crossed, his fingers steepled, his tailored clothing. Glancing behind him she saw experiments, papers and scientific equipment scattered where ever there was space. He was smart, always thinking, always looking for something to do, something to solve. He was deducing her with a completely blank expression, trying to take in every little detail about her, gauging her reactions to the situation she was in.

What attracted Sherlock the most about this girl was the caged animal like demeanor, the scars, the branding, and the puzzle surrounding her. Judging by her reactions so far he didn't think she was going to be a particularly pleasant study. Good. He didn't want this to be too easy.

Clearing his throat, John broke the intense silence between the two, "I'm not going to hurt you I just want to be sure you're alright." Her eyes cut over to him and sized him up.

She didn't think the doctor was a threat but he did have military training and she was injured. Maybe she was just being paranoid but paranoia wasn't always a bad thing when you were on the run. She had to think this through before she let him get any closer. There were three doors in the room, one was most likely a bathroom, one a bedroom. The door to the left of her was slightly cracked open and she could see the corner of a bath mat. The door to the right was closed and the door beside it had shoes sitting beside it. Okay so that was the exit, now she had to decide it she could trust these men.

John made a move towards the girl and she pulled out her switch blade, holding it out in front of her and if looks could kill, his body would already be cold.

The man stepped towards her and she held her knife out in front of her in warning. She needed more time to think about this. Judging by the amount of sunlight in the room she guessed it to be around 11. It was about 1:30 last night when she was shot meaning they had had almost 11 hours to call the police but here she was still at their flat. Maybe she could trust them.

Clearing his throat again, John decided to take a different approach, "I'm John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes. I'm a doctor and he's a consulting detective. Do you have a name?"

Sherlock snorted beside him. "Don't be daft, of course she has a name." When John turned back to the girl she nodded her head.

"Syn."

* * *

**This is just something that's been stuck in my head for awhile and finally decided to write down. Let me know what you think or if you have and suggestions. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'

-Eleanor Roosevelt

* * *

Syn let the doctor check her vitals and change her bandages but refused to close her switch blade. She tried not to shy away at his touch but it had been a long time since she had had any friendly touch especially from a man. But perhaps these men could help her, the doctor had said his friend was a consulting detective and she could tell he was smart but she couldn't tell just how good he really was.

"Why haven't you called the police?" She asked after John finished rewrapping her wounds. She had watched him carefully the entire time, making sure he didn't try to threaten her and because she really needed to learn how to patch something like this on her own. She had gotten lucky over the past few years when she had gotten hurt. She usually had a way to stay hidden until she could clean herself up and she had been…_gifted_ with the ability to heal fast as well so she usually wasn't down for long. But her body had been too exhausted to do it last night and she had nowhere to go. Even now she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You asked us not to." Sherlock stated simply, as if it was an everyday occurrence that they found wounded people on their doorsteps begging to not be taken to the hospital. But something told her that that wasn't true.

"Yes but after going through my things and finding the small arsenal in my bag I assumed you would have." It was a bit unsettling to her that they seemed perfectly alright with the fact that there was a dangerous criminal in their flat.

"How did you," John started but was cut off by Syn.

"Know that you had went through my things? Easy, curiosity always gets the best of everyone, John."

"Right. Well, I'm going to make breakfast." John said more to himself than anyone, quickly retreating into the kitchen. As soon as John disappeared Sherlock sat up in his seat, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. _He's getting ready to tell me his deductions._ She said to herself with a smirk.

"From what I've gathered, you're in your mid-20's and not originally from London, judging by your fading tan and American accent. The branding on your shoulder suggests that someone thinks they own you. It obviously wasn't pleasant scarring you physically but not emotionally, suggesting you've been capture several times but refuse to acknowledge it happened.

You have 20 small circular scars on your body, 5 on of your both arms and legs, most likely from a large needle. Now what you were given I'm not sure but I know it wasn't drugs, so whoever branded you also injected you with something.

The numerous scars on your body says you were tortured and after looking through the contents of your bag I'd say you have something they want and it's obviously something of importance since you've been running from them for at least 6 years judging by the fading of your scars.

Now, to make my intentions clear; I find you situation interesting. I plan on finding out as much as I can about your past. Not for your sake, mind you, but because I love puzzles, and you, my dear, are puzzling.

What I ask of you is that you do not touch my experiments, stay out of my way, and do not bore me. I'm not here to coddle you, that's John's job, I'm here to unravel you." He stood abruptly, brushing his way past her and leaving.

Closing her switch blade she sat in her previous spot on the couch and tried to think of the options she had. She knew she could only lead her assailants astray for so long especially since they knew she had been shot. The diversion she had set up a few days ago hadn't lasted as long as she hoped, last night being proof that they were getting quicker at figuring out her tricks. But she was _so _incredibly close. After working with Him for 4 years she knew all His habits and patterns but by the time she had tracked Him to a certain location He would already be 2 steps ahead of her. However, one of her contacts reached out to her a few weeks ago and told her He was here in London. She didn't think these men were in any danger because of her and she didn't think his men would come after her knowing she was injured.

_It was just a warning_, she reminded herself, _they want you out of action long enough for them to get a head start. _Satisfied that there wasn't any immediate threat she curled up as best she could without hurting herself more and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

-/-

The sound of a door slamming shut made her jolt awake and unconsciously flick open the blade in her hand. Her side screamed out in protest at the sudden movement and she ground her teeth to stop from crying out. As she fell back to her previous spot on the couch and the last bit of blurriness of sleep left her eyes she realized that it had been John who had slammed the door shut.

On the table beside her was a note with her name on it that she didn't bother to read because she already knew what it said. The clock in front of her read 8 am meaning John was going to work and would most likely be home by 5 that evening. Sitting up, slowly this time, she rubbed her eyes and let her mind continue to run endless scenarios, statistics, and possibilities for that day. The silence of the flat meant Sherlock was gone as well so there was no one to stop her from walking out the door and disappearing forever but something about being here made her feel safe. It was a completely terrifying feeling.

Keeping her switchblade in hand she slowly stood and moseyed into the kitchen. Beakers and microscopes and notebooks and chemicals took up the entire table and most of the countertops. Opening the fridge she couldn't help but chuckle at the decapitated head and the variation of chopped up body parts. _Always busy aren't you, Mr. Holmes? _Wandering into a bedroom and surveying the room that was undoubtedly Sherlock she realized why she felt so safe here. Not only did Sherlock and John have the ability to help her find Him, but she had finally found someone who was like her.

She scoffed out loud at herself. "Sentiment gets people killed, Syn and we can't have that." Poking around in his room a bit more she found her backpack and was pleased to see all of its contents still there. Stepping into the adjoining bathroom she changed into the extra set of clothes she kept in her bag and smiled in contentment at her reflection. She had exchanged the night pants and sleep shirt for a gray T-shirt, her brothers black leather jacket, and a pair of black jeans. She was on the run, what did you expect? With her bag slung over her shoulder, not wanting to be separated from it again, she started her search for her shoes and clothes, relieved to find that Doctor Watson had bagged them up for her in the kitchen.

After inspecting her clothing she knew there would be no saving the blood soaked garments and the little bit of blood that had gotten onto her well-worn black combat boots blended in with the years of caked on mud and dirt. Thankfully none of the blood had gotten onto her balaclava. Sitting back on the couch she reveled in the silence, finally allowing her mind to take over, trying to sort through what was important and what needed to be deleted as she began to clean her weapons.

-/-

"Syn!" Sherlock ran up the flight of stairs, his entire body humming with excitement as he threw the door open to their flat. "Syn, we have a case!" She had just finished cleaning her Colt 1911 when Sherlock came running in. "What do you mean _we _have a case?" Skirting around her he picked the newspaper up off the table in front of her and skimmed over the front page until he found what he was looking for. "Detective Inspector Lestrade called. He wants me to go look at a body that was found in Thames. He thinks it may be connected to the bodies that have been found in Manchester and Birmingham."

She tightened her grip on her gun at the mention of the two places where she had last killed. If DI Lestrade knew the two bodies were connected how much more did they know about her? Maybe it was time to hack into their database and find out. "So what does it have to do with me?"

"I want to see how smart you are. You were able to deduce me and John within a matter of seconds and now I want to see what you can do at a crime scene." She nearly laughed out loud at the man. "Come on Sherlock, I thought you were smarter than this! Do you think running around with black paint around my eyes and a balaclava around my face is just some sort of fashion statement? If I go to the crime scene with you, with or without all of that, someone is bound to recognize me."

Sherlock simply smiled.

-/-

She felt completely exposed as she stepped out of the cab and onto the wet soil of the park. She had exchanged her leather jacket for one of Sherlock's coats, and wrapped around her nose and mouth in place of her balaclava was one of Sherlock's black scarves. Her hair had been tied back in a bun and hidden by the sweatshirts hood and she had taken a pair of John's sunglasses to cover her eyes. For the first time in her life she was grateful for the cold weather of England. She could wear what she was wearing now and not many people would question it considering they were all dressed nearly the same way.

She didn't like the idea of being out during the daylight but she decided maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. She would be able to get a feel for her surroundings and it would be a lot easier to see if someone was trailing her. As she hurried to catch up to Sherlock's long strides she felt herself begin to panic at the sight of all the officers they were approaching. Any one of them could recognize her and any one of them could be working with Him and kill her right now.

Sensing the woman's discomfort Sherlock tried to reassure her. "Don't worry, they're all simple incompetent fools."

"Sherlock, you can't just bring anyone to a bloody crime scene!" Lestrade exasperated when he saw Syn trailing behind Sherlock. "She's not 'anyone', she's a friend of John's." He said without breaking stride. Syn refused to look directly at the DI for fear that he would recognize her. She knew she was just being paranoid but paranoia had saved her life more than once. She quickly followed Sherlock under the yellow police tape and through the wrought iron gates of the gardens.

"Lara Bishop, twenty-two, stabbed 8 times after suffering a beating." Lestrade gestured to the woman lying in a pool of blood. "Where's John?"

"Work. Who found her?" Sherlock circled the body slowly before crouching down.

"Her husband. Said she never came home from work last night so he followed her usual way home and found her here." The DI nodded towards a distressed man leaning against the squad car.

Syn felt a bit odd staring at the body in front of her knowing she, for the first time in a long time, wasn't the one who put it there. The woman laying on her side was very pretty and it was almost a shame that she had to be murdered but then again Syn did love solving crimes. She treaded carefully around the crime scene as Sherlock glanced around the body, noting the set of almost invisible footprints that had been left behind. The slightly flattened patches of grass were pointing both towards and away from him. Looking behind him to see that everyone was watching, he noticed Syn's eyes weren't on him, but instead on the almost invisible trail. _Oh, she __**is**__clever._

"Is she…like you?" Lestrade asked taking in her jeans, boots, scarf, and jacket. He couldn't help but feel that there was something off with this girl but he couldn't figure out what it was. "Not exactly. She just notices more that the average idiot." Sherlock smiled fondly at Syn, something that wasn't missed by the others. "What did you say her name was?"

Syn began following the suspect's footsteps, placing herself in his shoes trying to see what he saw. The strides were longer than her's but the shoe size was nearly the same_. _Stepping carefully around the crime scene Sherlock pulled her away from the prying officers. "Tell me what you see." She looked back at the others before turning her gaze to Sherlock, unsure if she should speak. "Go on, I know you see it."

"The suspect is a male, mid 30's, size 10 shoe, about 6'3, athletic, slight limp in his left leg judging by the way the left footprint is more defined in the grass. There's a pale ring around her ring finger so she was having an affair. A majority of the stab wounds are to the stomach and her attacker used a serrated blade, maybe a SOG or a SK3. Judging by the depth of the wounds and the way she was cut I'd say SK3 just because it's a longer knife. So whoever did this knew she was pregnant and was furious about it. How do I know she's pregnant you ask? Receipt from a baby store sticking out of her front pocket and she's fat yes, but not fat-fat, she's pregnant fat. It could be either man that did the stabbing because either man could've been mad. My guess is the husband did it due to the fact that she's having an affair and she's pregnant with her lover's baby and he found out. Look at her arms, see the bruising? It's in various stages of healing which means tonight wasn't the only night she was beaten."

Sherlock couldn't suppress the small smile that spread across his face. "Let's have a chat with the husband then, shall we?" Ducking back under the police tape Syn stuck close to Sherlock, growing increasingly on edge as the amount of officers became more and more as they reached the husband. He put on a rather believable show of sobbing and he almost fooled Syn but there was something about him that didn't sit right with her.

"The victim was your lover?" Sherlock asked.

"Wife," the man corrected.

"Have you ever laid your hands on you wife before last night?"

"How dare you suggest that I was the one who did this to her!" The man curled his hands into fists, one arm pulled tighter to his side than the other. Syn focused on that arm, watching his fingers twitch and missed what Sherlock said next.

"You basard!" Face red with rage, spit flying, the man made a move towards his back and Syn reacted.

_Click._ The sound of the safety on a gun being switched off made everyone freeze. All eyes turned to Syn, who had a Glock pressed to the side of the man's temple. She hadn't planned on things escalating to this point, but she didn't want to be unprepared. She had a gun holstered at her side but she didn't want to take it out for fear someone would recognize it.

Reaching for his own gun, Lestrade found his holster to be empty. Looking closer at the gun in the woman's hands he realized it was his. _Dammit, this was not good._

Sherlock took in her stance, not unlike John's when he held a gun. The scarf had ridden down on her face, just low enough to see her set jaw. "Gun underneath the sweatshirt and the knife is holstered to his left leg. He doesn't have a limp, his leg is just weighed down."

As officers cuffed the man, Sherlock bent down and pulled out the bloodied knife. Bastard hadn't even gone home to clean it. Syn casually flicked the safety back on and deposited the gun back into his holster at Lestrade's hip.

"Sherlock, I can't have your girlfriend stealing my gun whenever it suits her. It's bad enough having you steal my badge. I really should report her." Syn stiffened beside him, her heartbeat picking up as panic rose up within her. She hadn't meant to cause trouble, believe it or not, she just wanted to be prepared in case something happened, which it did.

"But you won't," the taller man said confidentially, turning towards the street and hailing a cab.


	3. Chapter 3

I believe everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.

-Marilyn Monroe

* * *

Over the years she always had a method to her madness, a plan, a reason to do what she was doing. For nearly her entire life that plan has been to stop Him. It didn't matter what he had done to her, she had seen revenge make people go crazy and she refused to die completely out of her mind. He had to be stopped and she was the only one who could do it.

She had accepted that she would most likely die before she could accomplish her goal but she refused to let Him have the satisfaction of knowing that. She was going to fight and if she died, she was going down swinging. She had accepted that there would be no happy ending if she brought His network down, sure there would be a rush of emotions ranging from accomplishment, to pride, and to joy, but then it would be over and it was over she would be empty.

And she was okay with that.

"John seems to think that you're some wounded animal, completely helpless. But there's more to you then that isn't there? You're relatively clever but I assume you don't want this to become common knowledge so John doesn't need to know just yet. I will warn you though, he's going to tip toe around you until her realizes that you aren't going to go on a murdering spree at any moment." She pulled away from her thoughts and glared at Sherlock. "I'm not completely helpless and I don't just go on murdering sprees, its self-defense."

"I've arranged for Molly to pick you up at Baker Street and take you shopping for new clothes tonight. You two are around the same age I think you'll get along quiet well. She works at the morgue at St. Bart's and I told her you're a friend of John's who just went through a rather traumatic event that has left you mute and physically scarred. This way you will be able to stay covered and quiet."

Syn tilted her head to the side and tried to read the man sitting across from her. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm a consulting detective, and you are a case that needs to be solved." He stated simply, not turning his gaze away from the window. He didn't want to admit out loud that he didn't particularly mind the woman's company. It was refreshing to have another mind that worked like his accompanying him to the crime scene today.

A tingling sensation ran up Syn's left side and turning her attention away from the man across from her she scanned the crowd and found one of His men. As her eyes locked with his he began to tap his right temple. _3, pause, 4, pause, 1, pause, 3, pause, 4, pause, 1 pause._

"Excuse me sir? I need out." Sherlock shot her a questioning glance as the taxi pulled to the side. "They're watching you aren't they?" Sherlock turned in his seat until he found the man. "Ex-military, with a rather large envelope in his left coat pocket." He pointed out as Syn began to readjust the scarf and glasses.

"I know, he's an informant. See in every organization there are men who have been injured but can still be useful so they're given the title of informant. They carry information between organizations, like messages from one leader to the next. The code he tapped out, 3-4-1, it means he has urgent information and he's alone. Don't follow me Sherlock, I don't need your blood on my hands." Stepping out of the cab, Syn took in every detail of her surroundings. It wasn't likely that another one of His men would be there, informants were protected and if one were to be killed it'd be full on warfare between organizations. As the taxi pulled away and she was sure that Sherlock wasn't going to follow her she began walking towards the man. As she neared him he pulled out a manila folder from his left coat pocket and as Sherlock had said it was rather full. The possibility of it being a bomb ran through her mind and she considered turning around as she stood in front of the man but before she could make up her mind two muffled gunshots were fired.

She instinctively ducked and waited for the pain but instead of hitting her she felt the man's blood spray her as the two shots hit him. People in the streets began to scream and panic when they realized what had just happened. The two shots had entered the left side of his back and exited though the front of his chest leaving a gaping hole. There would be too much chaos to try to find the shooter and she could already hear the police sirens nearing so she took the envelope and ran like hell.

Her heart was pounding in her ears as she sprinted down the street. She knew she was covered in blood but she couldn't stop. _Why shoot the informant? She was right there! Hell she hadn't even sensed the shooter! _Her mind was racing with possibilities but the one thing she knew for sure was that whatever was in this envelope shouldn't be in her hands.

A chill ran down her spine and she willed her legs to move faster, shoving aside people who got in her way. She was being followed and she didn't want to risk looking behind her and running into something or someone.

Her legs were beginning to ache and she knew there would be only one way to end this if she wanted to keep Sherlock and John out of danger. She ducked into an alleyway and hid behind a dumpster, making quick use of the few precious seconds she had before whoever was following her stepped into the alleyway. She pulled her gun out from its holster on her side and her hand came back bloody. Her adrenaline had been pumping so fast that she hadn't felt her wound rip open while she was running.

As the rapid footsteps grew closer another chill ran down her spine. _There was more than one. _She stepped out from her hiding spot, gun drawn and ready to shoot when she was sent to the ground by the crushing weight of her attacker's companion. She spluttered and coughed as she tried to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her. Her lungs felt like they were on fire every time she took a breath and she had to stop herself from crying out at the pain. Her gun and the envelope were kicked from her hands as a pair of muscular arms wrapped around her neck and middle. Her glasses had fallen off when she fell and her scarf had come loose and sagged down around her neck leaving her completely exposed.

The clothes the woman in front of her was wearing was unlike anything Syn had ever seen any of His men wear before. She wore a skin tight navy cat suit and her face was covered just like Syn's. The only thing she could see being her bright blue eyes and brunette ponytail. "Who the hell are you?" Syn demanded.

As the woman approached, Syn lifted her legs and sent the woman stumbling backwards. Slamming her head back she connected with the man's face. "You little bitch!" His grip loosened as he momentarily lost focus and she used that to her advantage and sent an elbow flying towards his face.

Almost as soon as her feet touched the ground the edge of a plastic pipe connected with the side of her face, blood gushing from her nose and lip, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. A kick in the stomach from the woman and pain blossomed throughout her entire body. _Survive. You have to survive. _When the next kick came she rolled onto her stomach and reached for the first thing she could find. As the woman lifted her leg to kick for the third time Syn spun herself to knock the woman's leg out from underneath her and drive the shard of glass she found into her stomach. _Kill, kill, kill! _The woman's companion barreled into Syn from the side, face covered in blood from the gash above his eyebrow, before the glass could pierce her skin.

Landing on her side Syn twisted and drove her glass into the first body part she could find. The glass found his thigh and she managed to roll herself out from underneath him as he screamed out in pain. _Who were these people?_ The woman grabbed a fist full of Syn's curls and threw her against a brick wall. _Punch, kick, block, kick, block, punch, kick._ Syn had recovered quickly and managed to block a few of the woman's blows, giving out some of her own until the man recovered.

Syn found herself back against the wall, this time with a hand constricting around her neck. She clawed at the man's hand as she kicked her legs, trying desperately to find anything to hit that would allow the man to loosen his grip. Her kicking only seemed to spur him on as she felt her body leave the wall and be lifted into the air.

_"This was it," She thought to herself. "all these years and you're going to be killed by people you weren't even after." _Her body went limp as the man's hand tightened even more. Just as the darkness seemed to have finally taken its permanent hold on her the hand around her throat vanished and her body violently connected with a brick wall. It wasn't until she fell to the ground in a limp pile that her muddled mind realized she had been _thrown._

"_Oni idut za toboy, ty yadovityye tvari."_

Syn curled herself away from the woman as best as she could, a heel slamming down on her right shoulder with a dull thud before the duo departed.

-/-

"Alright, Sherlock where the hell is she?" The sweet melody pouring from the violin stopped abruptly as the DI stormed in and threw a rather large file onto the table. To put it simply, Lestrade was pissed. For the last 10 years he had been trying to find The Ghost, gathering very single piece of information he could find on her, and no more than 2 hours ago he had let her into a _bloody_ _crime scene. _

"I don't know." To be honest Sherlock had not the slightest clue where Syn could be. After she had gotten out of the cab he had the driver circle back around only to find the place he had left her only moments ago swarming with police. After getting through and seeing the body he realized the gun the man had been shot with was a greater caliber than anything Syn owned. He searched the surrounding area and had been unable to find her or anything that could give him a clue as to who the shooter was.

John stood from his chair and began flipping through the file. His mouth agape with shock as he read through the file. "The Ghost?" He said more out loud than to himself.

"Yes, The Ghost. No one has a clue as to who she is. No one has ever seen her face and if they have they've never lived to talk about it. She's responsible for over 350 murders and possibly linked to over 100 more. Arson, murder, theft, blackmail, extortion, fraud, narcotics, the list goes on and on. Sometimes we'll be so close but then we won't see her for months at a time. A woman matching the description of the one that came with you to the crime scene was with a man when he was shot. A majority of the people are claiming it was her who shot him so where the hell is she!"

-/-

_You are weak. You always have been and always will be. Who do you think you are trying to destroy _His _network? Look at you! You can't even fight without your pretty little weapons to hide behind! You're pathetic! Worthless! _Tears rolled down her bloodied face as she drug herself through the streets, His voice echoing through her mind the entire way. The sun had set a long time ago and she was relying heavily on the shadows to conceal her. If anyone saw her in the state she was in there would be no getting away. _Weak, weak, weak! Someone is unfortunate enough to take you into their home and help you and now you act as if you've never had to take care of yourself._ Every fiber of her being was screaming out in pain. She just wanted it to be over.

A sob escaped her lips as she 221B came into view. _Look how dependent you've become on the Doctor and the Detective. What have I told you about trusting people? Don't! You never listen you incompetent bitch! _As she open the door she could hear voices coming from the flat but she couldn't find it in herself to care at the moment. She was tired of playing this game, tired of having to fear anyone who got the slightest glimpse of her face.

She drug herself up the steps one by one, fighting with herself to stay conscious. At the top she lunged for the closed door, desperate to have something to support her weight but instead the half latched door swung open and she collapsed in the doorway of 221B.

-/-

Syn's opened her eyes and immediately slammed them shut at the brightness of the room. Beside her machines beeped in a steady rhythm and she couldn't move her arms more than a few inches and _oh god_ she was back in that awful room. Her eyes flew open as she began to panic, the machines shrill beeping becoming more erratic and the smell of antiseptics making her want to vomit. She tried to scream put the action nearly made her pass out from the pain. When Sherlock appeared in her blurred vision she gripped onto the sleeve of his coat for dear life. As long as Sherlock was here He wasn't here. Doctors moved around her trying to calm her down but she couldn't because there was needles in her and those needles were attached to bag with who the hell knows what running through her veins and she _couldn't _calm down.

The sharp, silver point of a needle caught her eye and she thrashed even more because she knew they were going to give her more and it was going to hurt so badly. She didn't want anymore, there had been a time when she had craved it, looked forward to the burn, but that had turned her into a monster and she didn't want to be a monster anymore. _Sherlock why are you just standing there? Don't let them do this to me! _The prick of the needle came and everything faded away.

-/-

"Bloody hell, Sherlock she shouldn't even be alive." John scanned the pages of the file Sherlock had swiped in disbelief. Sherlock handed him two photographs of the blood sample he had taken when they first met, the first was of a normal sample, and the second which was a picture of her sample. "Her blood cells are mutated, if I didn't know this was a blood sample I would have never been able to guess it. Wait until Lestrade sees this." "Question is," Sherlock began, turning his gaze away from the photographs to the unconscious woman who was full of surprises. "How?"

-/-

When she woke the second time John and Sherlock were at her side in an instant trying to keep her calm so the doctors wouldn't have to sedate her again. "Syn, you're at St Bart's hospital. You were admitted a day ago after you were attacked." After everything came back into focus she nodded numbly at the doctor. "They want to know what happened don't they?" John nodded. "They're going to arrest me if I don't tell them, aren't they?" He nodded again. She looked at her handcuffed wrist, and the blue sling her arm was in and screwed her eyes shut. "How bad is it?" Her voice was hoarse and her throat and chest felt like it was on fire when she spoke. "Your right shoulder was dislocated, you have stitches in your side, a few on your face, and some on your right hand, your lip is busted, you underwent surgery to stop the internal bleeding, two fractured ribs, and you've got pretty nasty bruising on your back and around your neck." Sherlock informed. She laid her head back against her pillow and tried to fight back the lump in her throat. She wasn't going to cry, she had done enough of that last night. At least no one had seen her and she'd be dammed if she sat here in front of Sherlock and John and _cried._

So this was it. These were the options she had, there was no running, no getting away by some miracle, no fighting her way out. She was down for a few days and the police knew who she was, they couldn't be that blind. _It's time. _

"Bring Lestrade in, I'll talk to you two and him but no one else. Nothing leaves this room, nothing is recorded, and nothing is written down. Those are my terms." The door was opened and Sherlock informed the DI of Syn's terms. Agreeing he stood at the foot of her bed. "So the shooting-"

"Forget the shooting. I want to make a deal with you. I can tell you everything I know about the organization I worked for, about the people who I've killed and why, and I can tell you that I am the least of your worries right now. You haven't seen anything until you've seen Him and if you're smart you'll listen to what I have to say. I don't want any information leaked about what I say or who I am and I don't want any jail time for the shooting, I didn't do it. If you accept, I'd like to be uncuffed."

Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips, looking completely unconvinced. "They poisoned me!" She gritted her teeth, her chest feeling as if it was on fire. A lifetime of secrets were on the tip of her tongue and he didn't believe her! _Do you think anyone would believe a murderer? The only thing your good at is killing, lying, and manipulating people to get your way. _"I-I know the doctors have told you about my blood, it's mutated I shouldn't even be alive. There is no medical explanation as to why I am still breathing, believe me I know. The man who is trying to kill me did this, all those people I've killed were men who worked for Him. You _need _me."

The DI pulled the small key from his pocket and she didn't think she had even been so relieved to be able to move her arm. This was it, no turning back. No taking back anything that was about to be said, this could either be the best or dumbest thing she had ever done in her life. "Who's after you?" With a cautious deep breath her eyes locked with grey irises and she began to tell the story of what it was like to live with the devil himself.

* * *

**I decided to write a good portion of his chapter from Syn's point of view mainly because this is my first go with writing in third person and I'm not sure if I'm writing the other characters in a way that does them justice. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.

-Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

_The DI pulled the small key from his pocket and she didn't think she had even been so relieved to be able to move her arm. This was it, no turning back. No taking back anything that was about to be said, this could either be the best or dumbest thing she had ever done in her life. "Who's after you?" With a cautious deep breath her eyes locked with grey irises and she began to tell the story of what it was like to live with the devil himself._

-/-

"I'll save you the sob story and tell you what's important. My family was killed on my 16th birthday, my parents, my older brother, and my two younger twin siblings. I hid in a crawl space on the top floor of our house and when I smelled the smoke I crawled back out and grabbed whatever I could before the house collapsed. I ended up on the streets with a backpack full of weapons, a debit card, and about a thousand dollars in cash.

I was smart and I managed to stay hidden for a while, I used to cash to buy fake ID's and passports. I applied for fake credit cards and after I spent about 500 dollars I would get a new one. I used what little cash I had left to buy ammo, medical supplies, and protective gear. I managed to stay hidden for 4 years but I slipped up one day and got caught breaking into a convenience store. I tried to fight the cop off but he called for backup and soon there were 4 guys pinning me to the ground and slapping cuffs on my wrists.

I was shoved into the back of the police cruiser and as soon as the door slammed shut the cop's brain exploded. The other three lost their heads too in about the same second and I was in complete shock. The back window was busted out and I was yanked out by my hair and drugged with chloroform. When I woke up I was strapped to a metal table and He was standing over me. There was this serum he had come across, I had no idea what it was but he said it would make me into the perfect weapon. I was given 20 initial injections 5 in each arm and leg. I thought I was going to die, the pain-it was unimaginable.

The whole thing messed me up so bad I couldn't even remember my name. Trying to remember it was like getting on your tiptoes and trying to reach something on the top shelf but you're just a little too short and you can only brush your fingertips across it. He called me Syn and that became my new name.

It took to me for some reason and I lived through it. They tested me every day to see how I was progressing but I always held back. I never wanted them to know my full potential just in case. I was beaten and tortured into obedience and once they were sure I wouldn't run the first chance I got I was branded with an M on my back. I guess so that way if I ever got lost whoever found me would know who I belonged to.

I had to keep getting injections every few days because I would crash, almost go through some sort of withdraw. I climbed through the organization and in 6 months I was one of his personal consultants. I lived with him for 4 years, commanded my own group of elites. The best of the best, the only people who could kill without hesitation on a moment's notice and be gone before the body had time to hit the floor. I would follow him on business trips and negotiations and offer my opinion if I was asked for it and protect Him if things ever got a bit out of hand.

He has people all through the UK, America, Russia, Germany, France, Portugal, Spain and a majority of China and India. He does everything and anything; smuggling, assassinations, blackmail, drugs, you name it that crazy bastard does it.

I was given an assignment that required me and a few of the elites to kill a client's wife as a promise of what was to come to his children if he didn't pay up soon. I had been informed the wife had taken the children to school but when I stormed into the house she hadn't. They were all sitting on the couch watching telly and when I shot the mother the kids screamed and screamed and screamed. I couldn't leave behind any witnesses so I had to shoot the kids too, I had no choice. I remember staring at the bodies and feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins and the dull craving for more of the serum and I realized I was a _monster_. I was killing people the same way my family had been killed and for what?

When I got back to the mansion I waited until He was asleep and left. I've been running ever since. The people I killed have all been men that worked for him. I've been trying to take down his network for the last few years but it's so huge and I'm always having to run in the opposite direction because sometimes they're out to kill me but sometimes they're only out to warn me."

The room fell silent as she examined their expressions. The wheels in Sherlock's mind were working in overtime trying to decipher if what she was saying held any truth. Lestrade's jaw had fallen slack at some point during her story and she could see the possibility of her story being true beginning to dawn on him. John had complete and utter shock written across his face, his poor simple mind trying to comprehend what he had just heard.

Lestrade was the first to break the silence. "So what exactly…changed?" She toyed with an edge of the blanket she was covered with, carefully thinking about her response. "I'd rather not tell you. I want you to a least view me as somewhat human."

"D-do you still crave it? The serum?" The confusion plastered across John's face made a little more sense as she realized that he was probably viewing her from a medical standpoint. "Yes I do, I crave the burn that ran through my veins sometimes. I want to feel that buzz, the rush that I get with taking it and knowing that it's going to make me stronger. But it turned me into a monster and every time that craving gets a little too tempting I close my eyes and go back to my time working with Him and I relive everything I did to remind me why I don't need it. It doesn't erase the craving, it just dulls it to a tolerable level."

"Why warn you? Why not just kill you?" Sherlock finally asked. "I don't know, maybe because I'm getting too close and He wants to keep pushing me to see how long I'll be able to hold on to my sanity. I don't know why they don't just kill me."

"Perhaps this will help," Sherlock pulled out a stack of papers and set it in her lap. She picked up the first item off the pile, a photograph of a man and a woman she recognized. She flipped the picture over and her heart sank to her stomach. "Shit." Abandoning the photograph she skimmed through the papers on her lap, the urge to vomit becoming stronger with every page flip.

"The people who attacked me weren't His men. In fact I had no idea who they were or who they worked for or why they wanted me dead until now. These are lease agreements to flats just doors away from 221B and the people who are leasing them are top dollar assassins. This picture is of Felicity and Oliver Smoake. He was billionaire biochemist who was working for the CIA and while there he met Felicity who was an agent. Wedding bells rang and 6 months later they married and had a daughter. Not long after that they vanished, bank accounts wiped, the house was ransacked, all the cars were there, and a lot of people believed there had been foul play involved. They've been presumed dead considering no one has seen or hear from them in nearly 30 years.

This is a picture of Felicity and Oliver taken in Manchester 2 days ago. 4 days ago I killed in Manchester, 3 days ago in Birmingham, and then I came here. These papers are Oliver's lab notes, he was working on genetic mutations that could evolve the human race to a point of immorality when he disappeared. If they're still alive he could possibly be trying to recreate the serum."

She pinched the bridge of her nose as her mind raced with possibilities of what this could bring and what she needed to do now. It had been one thing knowing she was after His men, knowing most of the people she had killed, but this? She was completely blind to what this was, she had no idea what she was dealing with.

"In the cab you said the informant worked for M, correct?" She nodded her head. "Do you have any clue as to why he would want you to have this?"

"That's the thing Sherlock, I don't. It makes no sense for Him to give me this. He had to of known sending out an informant with these papers was going to get him killed. I don't understand why I wasn't shot too, I was right there for Christ's sake! None of this makes sense anymore. Smoake's people had two chances to kill me but they still let me live, why? Why beat me to a pulp and le-_oh_." _You can't escape it darling, it was meant to be. _

_-/-_

Syn spent the night watching the city below her come to life with sparkling lights and Saturday night party goers. She tried to distract her panicked mind from the tubes running medication through her veins by deducing people but not even that was able to calm her. Nurses came in periodically throughout the night to check her bandages and give her more medication and each time she would tense up until she realized that they were not a threat.

She rose with the sun, walking in circles as she tested her healing body. Her stomach was incredibly sore as was her back but it wasn't debilitating. It would slow her down sure but if she managed by some miracle to take it easy she would be healed by Monday. Hopefully.

A light knock at the door set her back on edge and a young pathologist stepped into the room with a bag of newly bought clothes and a warm smile. "I'm Molly, Sherlock sent me to bring you a change of clothes and your bag." Syn ripped the tubes out of her arm and thanked Molly for bringing her things.

She wasn't surprised when she found that the clothes and shoes he had gotten her fit perfectly, however she was a bit surprised at his choice of clothing; a light blue button up dress shirt, a grey button up vest, black slacks and matching boots. To keep her warm he had bought a black coat similar to his but shorter and a navy scarf.

It was obvious Sherlock had gotten her clothes, painfully so, but she wasn't complaining. While working for him she had been in uniform constantly and while on the run she was in whatever she could find that fit. At the bottom of the bag was a white remote with a red button in the center. Taped to the back of the remote was a note: _Press the button and we will come –SH_. She shook her head and shoved the remote into her pants pocket. Next she armed herself, gun tucked in her back waist band, knife strapped to her ankle, switch blade and mobile in her pocket.

She had never made a call on her mobile before, only received them when her contacts reached out to her, but maybe it was time she start carrying it on her. Satisfied she checked herself out of the hospital and, after being given a prescription that she would never fill and scheduling a follow up appointment that she would never go to, she was free to leave. Molly was waiting for her by the elevator and they rode down to the lobby, Molly talking the entire way. She actually didn't mind Molly as much as she thought she would. She was so innocent and smart and Syn envied her a bit.

As they stepped out Syn pulled her scarf up around her nose and kept her head tilted down. They pushed their way through people coming and going in the lobby and then through people walking in the streets. She took slow deliberate steps as she tried to move her body as little as possible. Stepping towards the curb and waiting for a cab, her body stiffened as the cab pulled up in front of them.

"You go ahead Molly, I have to stay." The ringing persisted but she ignored it. "But Sherlock said-" Syn held up her good hand to stop her. "I bet he said a lot of things that weren't true, like I'm a 'friend' of John's who just went through a 'traumatic' event. Molly if you want to live go home right now." The woman's face paled as she nodded her head and hurried into the cab.

Turning her attention to her left side she expected to see one of Smoake's people but what she saw instead made her heart drop to her stomach. He hadn't changed any in the last 6 years, maybe just gotten a bit more muscular but that was it. 6'2 and 180 pounds of muscle came walking towards her with that stupid prefect smile plastered across his face.

His green eyes scanned over her disapprovingly as he stood in front of her, almost as if he could see all the cuts and bruises underneath her clothing. "You've gotten weaker. Your healing slower, your stamina is going to go next." Her thumb circled the red button in her pocket as she looked him over. A gun tucked between the waistband of his jeans and his white t-shirt. A knife was tucked into his black boots and in his black leather jacket was something that resembled a folder. "I know what's going to happen, I'm doing as best as I can given the circumstances. If you're here to kill me please go ahead, no need to chat about my condition before you do. But I know you're not going to do that because if you were I would've been dead already. So you're fishing for information that I'm not going to give you."

"I'm worried about you Syn. Please can we just talk somewhere privately?" She looked him over once more before reluctantly agreeing. There had been a point in time where he had been the only thing preventing her from losing her sanity. He had been one of the elites, her right hand man and their relationship grew over the years. She knew he loved her, that he still does, but she never felt the same way back. Love was human error and as soon as you let yourself love someone they became your pressure point. Without a pressure point it makes it hard for enemies to manipulate you. They have nothing to threaten you with, nothing to use for leverage. But what she felt towards him could potentially destroy her.

She trusted Sebastian Moran.

They chose a pub a few blocks down from the hospital and sat in a quiet corner in the back. "So what has the great Sebastian Moran so spooked?" He pulled a black folder from his jacket and set it in front of her. Inside was all the information on the assassins who had taken temporary residence on Baker Street. "The Smoake's have a 10 million price on your head. The boss wants to offer you protection and I think it would be a smart decision considering your new neighbors aren't the best." She laughed in his face.

"Has he suffered a stroke? Or does he expect me to be that stupid?" Sebastian sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest like he always did when he was mad. "Syn you need us. You're getting weaker." Glasses jumped and conversations momentarily ceased as she slammed her fist down on the table. "I am not _weak_ and I do not_ need_ the organization. The serum didn't make me who I am, my family did. The serum only enhanced what was already there and if I have to live with waiting a few extra days to heal then so be it." She stood slowly, ignoring the look he was giving her, and left.

-/-

Syn took her time getting back to Baker Street. Maybe it was a foolish thing for her to sit in the park and unravel every person that walked by, but there was a lot going on and she just needed time to think. She had half expected Sebastian to follow her but he hadn't and she was glad. As the sun set she vacated her spot on the bench and made the short walk back to 221B at a leisurely pace. John stormed past her as she stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind him. "Don't worry about him dear, they just had a domestic."

Syn pulled her scarf away from her face and gave the landlady a small smile. "Bored, is he?" She asked nodding upstairs. "I'm afraid so." As she slowly began to climb the stairs an uneasy feeling washed over her but before she had time to address it the entire building shook with the blast of an explosion. "Sherlock!"

-/-

Striding into the mess of a flat, Mycroft Holmes offered a tight smile to his younger brother. "Syn, this is Mycroft. Mycroft this is Syn." Sherlock said without looking up from his violin. Syn glared at the man and began to sharpen her arrowheads with more force than necessary.

Turning to face Syn, Mycroft offered another tight smile. "Out of all the flats in London-" Syn rolled her eyes and sighed irritably. "Mycroft don't start." Sherlock looked between the two in confusion. "I stopped your brother's assassination about a year ago," she explained. "However he seems to think he would've handled drinking rat poisoning and stopping a bullet from going through his brain just fine on his own."

Ignoring her Mycroft turned back to his brother. "Are you so bored of Doctor Watson that you had to take on another pet?" The elder Holmes looked over Syn with disgust. Her eyes sparked a dark shade as she squared up to him, arrow still in hand. Reaching forward, he caught her chin, turning her head side to side, getting a good look at her since she was no longer wearing anything to cover her face.

She was itching to ram an arrow though his wrist and break it but Mycroft was literally the British Government and he could have her killed with just one word. It was obvious that Mycroft didn't think highly of her, placing his distaste for her below that of the general public. Syn made a threatening sound in the back of her throat and tried to pull away. Mycroft smirked and tightened his hold, intent on displaying that he had the upper hand on the assassin. Her top lip curved into a snarl as she refused to look away, defying the man with her eyes.

"Oh I see why he drug you in; he always has loved a challenge." Sherlock noticed Syn's hand ball into tight fists and stepped between the two before the situation could escalate.

"Mycroft. That's enough." His voice was deep with an unspoken threat. His brother was known to push and Sherlock didn't know how Syn would react. "I'm sure Syn would appreciate it if you removed your pudgy fingers from her face." Retracting his hand, Mycroft made a show of wiping his hands on his handkerchief. "You always have been possessive with your toys Sherlock, even the broken ones."

In the next second Mycroft was doubled over trying to stop the flow blood running from his nose. Syn leaned down level with his ear and smiled. "Mr. Holmes, I don't think your brother would appreciate me decorating his flat with your innards so please, enough with the name calling. Understood?"

Mycroft straightened himself and gently dabbed at his nose with his bloodied handkerchief. "Of course." Syn smiled cheekily at the older Holmes brother and reclaimed her seat on the couch.

"Sherlock?" John came running up the stairs, his eyes taking in the chucks of glass scattered on the floor and the papers strewn in every direction. "John."

"I saw it on the telly, are you okay?" He glanced over at Mycroft with wide eyes and then over to Syn who smirked. "We're fine. Mycroft's trying to get Sherlock to take a case but he doesn't seem to understand that we're rather busy right now." Syn informed. Truth was they weren't busy at all, it was a case of sibling rivalry that she had picked up on as soon as Mycroft walked into the flat.

Mycroft tried his luck with John, explaining the case of Andrew West, an M16 employee who was found in a rail year with his head smashed in and a USB containing vital information about the Bruce-Partington missile project was missing. "Why'd you lie? You've got nothing on, not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding," Syn glanced over the wall and chuckled at the chunks missing from yellow face that had been painted onto the wallpaper. "Why'd you tell your brother you were busy?"

"Sibling rivalry, John. I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it. The entire confrontation was simply oozing with it." Syn stood and threw her arrow at the wall, finding its mark in the center of the yellow eye as Sherlock's mobile began to ring. "Sherlock Holmes." Syn watched his eyes light up and his body straighten. "Get your things John," she said, pulling her coat on. "We have another case."

-/-

Everyone stared at the trio as the followed Lestrade through the Yard. He had slipped her the papers she had asked for while she was in the hospital before they stepped inside his office. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones?" "Obviously," Sherlock muttered. "You'll love _this. _That explosion…" "It wasn't a gas leak was it?" Syn asked, voicing the secret fear that had been festering since the explosion. "No. Made to _look_ like one. Hardly anything was left of the place except for a strong box-a _very_ strong box."

On Lestrade's desk was a white envelope addressed to Sherlock Holmes. "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." "How reassuring," Sherlock mumbled after a moment's hesitation. "Syn?" "From the Czech Republic. She used a fountain pen, Parker Duofold iridium nib by the looks." John and Lestrade stared at her dumbfounded. "Bloody hell now there's two." She smiled. "Don't worry John, I tend to only do it when asked."

Sherlock picked up a letter opened and carefully slit open the envelope. Inside was a pink iPhone. "_The Study in Pink, the pink phone." _Syn felt the color drain from her face. "You have one new message," The phone alerted. Four short pips and one longer one filled the silence that had fallen over the room. "Sherlock," her voice was barely above a whisper but everyone's attention turned to the teary eyed woman. "He's coming for me."

* * *

**I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't as great as the others I had a lot of explaining to do and I thought it was be best to write this chapter from Syn's point of view. PLease let me know what you thought of if you have any suggestions! Thanks for reading!**


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